A Likely Story
by Nightfancy
Summary: Maybe he should offer his arm? But it wasn't like he had almost broken her leg... AU. Slight Game 3 spoilers and a slightly unorthodox look into the origins of Layclaire.


**A/N:** _I use American spelling because I'm American and learned it that way. However—when I say 'football' in this piece here, I am not talking about American football. You can't hear the 'o's and 'u's that I don't use in dialogue, but you'd certainly be able to hear 'soccer'—and that's one discrepancy too many for me. xD I also have somewhat of a headcanon about when this takes place—Hershel and Claire aren't dating yet, but they know **of** each other...and in this piece, Claire's testing the waters a bit, seeing if Hershel will ask her out himself. (Of course, according to canon, **she** is the one who eventually approaches him so I think he ultimately fails to ask her out at all. So this happens before she asks him out. ^^) Also, please forgive my crappy titles and my lengthy description. Neither titles nor conciseness are fortes of mine. ^^;_

The chorus of empathetic, emphatic _"Ohhhh!"_s that reverberated around the field weren't what he had initially been going for—no, he had been hoping to impress a few of the boys his own age and his foolishness had only resulted in—"Right in the face! Kicked it _right_ in her face, Hershel!"

The other boys crowded around her, inspecting the large goose egg rapidly swelling on her forehead. Hershel hissed as he approached—it certainly looked as though it hurt.

"_Really_, all of you," she said from the ground, addressing the group of ten surrounding her. Hershel pushed through to get a closer look at her and his stomach plummeted once he recognized who it was. "I'm _fine_." Her assurance seemed cheerful enough, but Hershel could see she was fighting back tears.

Nigel spoke first. "Oh, I'm sure Hershel's sorry—aren't you, Hershel?" Nigel asked, rounding on him as if daring him to answer in the negative.

"_Yes!_" his quick response was as emphatic as the chorus of 'oh's had been. "I'm _terribly_ sorry, Miss Folley. I feel dreadful. I should be the one to take you to first aid—after all, I'm the one who did it."

"That's settled then," Nigel spoke up before Claire could say anything to the contrary. "Alright lads, back away, give the lady some room! Hershel's out this game, but we'll replace him with Robert—" Nigel's orders drifted further and further away as he led the group of eight back toward the field.

Somehow, Claire's bruised forehead looked even worse without the other men forming the close-knit circle around her. "Here," Hershel said, offering his hand. Claire took it and he pulled her up. Hershel bent down to pick up her things and she surprised him by asking, "Did you win?"

"What?" he asked, slightly stunned.

"The game. Did you win? With a kick like that, I would've surely thought—"

Hershel furrowed his brow as he shouldered her bag. "I think that particular game will remain unfinished, but,"—and now he sounded quite sheepish—, "had I actually hit the intended target, we may have won the game, yes…"

Claire was rearranging her hair as they walked so the bruise was partially concealed. "I'm sorry I ruined your game," she said. "I was reading as you may have already ascertained and I wasn't watching where I was going." Her voice somehow grew cheerier as she smiled and concluded with, "I didn't even realize I was in the football field until said football hit me in the face."

But that unassuming smile made Hershel feel even worse. "Claire…" he wanted to do something—anything—but he couldn't conceive of what. Maybe he should offer his arm? But it wasn't like he had almost broken her leg…

"Yes?" she asked, for some reason stopping in her tracks and looking at him expectantly.

Hershel immediately felt his mouth go dry and his mind go blank. He could feel his cheeks coloring like there was no tomorrow because for some reason, he had been robbed of an answer to her query. "I—" he looked at the ground and strangely, the words started coming back to him. "What I mean to say…is that I'm _very_ sorry and…it hardly feels adequate, taking you to first aid…"

Claire grinned and touched his arm. He jumped and looked at her in shock. "Hershel, I know you didn't mean to—and _I'm_ the one who walked right into the midst of your game unawares…so I guess you could say I sort of did this to myself."

"But—" he tried to protest, but Claire cut him off as she removed her hand and continued walking toward the infirmary.

"Tell me something, Hershel—had I not been there, would the ball have hit me?"

"No, but—"

She turned back to smile at him and he was rendered speechless once more. "Then I rest my case. I could have chosen to actually use the sidewalk for the reason it was intended, but _no_…instead I quite stupidly decided to wander right in the middle of the field. And I knew there were people nearby, but I didn't take a second to realize _why_, therefore…it was _my_ fault, not yours. I know you feel terrible about it—I think in your shoes I would too—but 'what's done is done' as they say. You've already apologized _and_ you're walking me to first aid. I hesitate to call it such, but I think your 'debt' is already paid. Please don't feel obligated to do anything else on my account—I mean, I'd certainly appreciate it, but it truly wouldn't be necessary."

"A—Alright," he finally said as they neared the building. He pulled open the door for her once they reached it. "As long as you're _quite_ sure…"

She snickered. "I'm _positive_, Hershel. You are quite the gentleman all on your own." Said gentleman only stared stupidly after her for a few seconds before he entered the building himself.

"Hmm, there's no one here. How very odd…" Hershel approached the front desk after ushering Claire into a chair. "Back in twenty minutes," he read the notice on the desk aloud. "Oh, that's a bother—whoever it was must've just stepped out."

Claire found this extremely funny for some reason and started laughing. "Oh yes, open 24/7, day or night, but it's questionable if staff are actually going to be here!"

Hershel laughed a little himself and found it made him feel a bit better. "Haha, I'm sure this isn't common—after all, they'd build up a terrible reputation after a while…Wait here a moment," he said before he stepped behind the desk into one of the adjoining rooms.

"Are you sure you're allowed to go back there, Hershel?" she called to his retreating back, but she was smirking. Within a few moments, Hershel had returned with the ice pack she needed. He pulled up a chair so he could sit before her.

His fingers hesitated at her forehead. "Move your hair, please," he requested. Claire smiled as she did so and Hershel hissed through his teeth again at his second look.

"Is it really that bad?" Claire asked, surprised. "It doesn't even hurt…well…much anymore anyway."

"It has swelled more in the time it took to get here," he said as he gingerly placed the ice on her head. Now it was Claire's turn to hiss, but at least her eyes weren't full of barely repressed tears anymore.

"Here, I can hold it," she offered, "and then you can take my bag off—it isn't the lightest thing in the world…"

Hershel did so, setting the bag to the left of her on the floor. He reassumed his place in the chair before her and his nervous fingers hesitated over her forehead again.

Claire smirked. "It's okay, I've got it. How about you just…talk to me while we wait for the swelling to go down or for one of the medical staff to actually show up?"

He palmed his chin with much relief; thinking always calmed him down. "…About what exactly?"

She snickered. "_Anything_, Hershel. Distract me. That shouldn't be too difficult…I've already proven that I'm easily distracted…" she trailed off ruefully.

"Ah, about that," Hershel quickly seized upon his opportunity. "What were you reading?"

"Ah…that's…not important." To his great surprise, she actually looked embarrassed. It was the first time he had ever seen her look even a bit sheepish.

"Something _appropriate_ for a lady of your age, I hope," he teased.

"Absolutely not," she returned with another coy smirk. "I was _completely_ distracted," she reemphasized, "enough to wander right out into the middle of the field. Mesmerized, dare I say it…"

But now Hershel had to get to the bottom of this and snatched her bag before she could voice even the least of protests.

But she still had her words. "Pilfering through a lady's bag, Hershel? Are you quite sure that's becoming of a gentleman?"

Her jest made him instantly pause, mouth agape in horror and she giggled. "I'm only teasing. You may 'pilfer' if you wish. However," now her tone turned more inquisitive, "I'm surprised you didn't note the title earlier; normally you are quite observant, and it's a volume that should be very familiar to you."

"Well, I was a bit distracted myself…" he trailed off, grinning as he carefully began removing her textbooks and folders.

"Haha, I suppose it's not every day that Hershel Layton's kicked a football into a lady's face…"

"Touché," he replied, smiling to himself as he pulled out the last book and Claire was right—it _was_ familiar. And his mouth was hanging open again. "I don't believe it," he said quietly, almost to himself, but Claire heard him.

"After you mentioned it, I wanted to see if I could find it," she explained as he carefully handled the now-rare, yet perfect condition _"Puzzle-Solving at its Finest: 1001 Puzzles You've Never Heard of Before"_.

"Where on earth did you find it?" he asked in awe, running his fingers over its glossy lettering.

She laughed again. "I have my sources. I wanted to see if I could complete it as well—"

"What one were you trying to solve?" he asked, flipping through the pages—but they were curiously blank.

She smirked at him. "The last one, actually. I've done all the others—"

"But there's nothing—" he broke off, flipping through the rest of the pages. There were no answers written on any page.

"Hershel, I know," she said, using the hand that wasn't currently holding the ice pack to her forehead and placing it on his arm. The action caused him to spontaneously look at her, just as he had done before. "I didn't write in it for a reason."

His mouth suddenly went dry again. "W—What reason?"

"I know how much this book must've meant to you, the way you so candidly spoke of it, so I tracked it down with the intention to give it to you…only I also wanted to see if I had the mental capacity to solve them all myself, and it would seem that I do…except for the last one. I'm completely stuck."

"Walk me through your process," he was saying as he flipped the thick book toward the back to the final puzzle. "Perhaps you only need a little hint."

"Unfortunately, I'm all out of hint coins," she said with a small smile.

"Well, then you can use one of mine," he said, smiling back as he read the last puzzle in the book for what felt like the very first time.


End file.
